


Under No Obligation

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: They may have all the available time of middle-aged salarymen but that doesn’t mean they don’t want each other like they haven’t yet hit twenty-five(KNBxNBA)





	Under No Obligation

They probably have more time to talk during the season, and the frustration of that contradiction is not lost on Shuuzou at all. It’s kind of ridiculous that they’re living together but, save for a few stolen weekend afternoons at the beach, every minute feels stolen, precious in more than the way they always do.

They fall asleep and wake up together every day, and having that at least is nothing to complain about, and even on the early shift it’s late enough for Daiki to get up with him and make him coffee, drape himself all over Shuuzou in his state of half-sleep (and in the mornings it’s sometimes cool enough for Shuuzou to not even pretend to shove him off). But then Daiki stays up and drops the kids off the pool where they work as lifeguards, and then goes to work out with his personal trainer. By the time Shuuzou gets back he’s napping and the kids are whining at Shuuzou to play video games or basketball with them, and when Daiki gets up it’s just about time for dinner. The kids switch to pestering him, and Shuuzou kicks his parents out of the kitchen to make dinner, and they’ll all be close to crashing by the time dinner’s over.

Today, though, Shuuzou’s brother is spending the night with one of his lifeguard friends and his sister has decided she’s going to be self-sufficient and not bother them just this once. Shuuzou’s dad had ordered pizza, and they’ve got this evening to themselves, stretching in front of them, an open court for them to run down together, a layup they can’t miss. It shouldn’t be that rare, but it is (though if there’s any consolation it’s that Shuuzou appreciates it more).

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Shuuzou says.

“I want to,” says Daiki. “I like your family. I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“I know,” says Shuuzou. “But if…”

(If what? He’s not quite sure where this sentence is going, but Daiki can fill in the blank. He’s sharp enough.)

“Listen,” says Daiki. “I mean it.”

He knocks his fist against Shuuzou’s open hand.

“Sorry,” says Shuuzou.

“No harm, no foul,” says Daiki.

Shuuzou flicks his thumb, picking at the label on the neck of his beer bottle. He’s not totally sure how to say what he really means, how much it means to him that Daiki’s still doing it, that it’s what he wants. He’s a rich young celebrity in LA, nominally here to train five hours a day with the best athletic trainer in the country. He could do anything with the spare time spilling from his fingers; he could live downtown and party every night, play basketball with other pros, spend a weekend here and there at Shuuzou’s house and still get in the same amount of alone time. But he’s here, ferrying the kids to and from where they need to be, buying groceries when Shuuzou’s parents are too busy, putting in work he doesn’t need to.

He looks at Daiki, still not sure how to say it. He has to look up to see Daiki’s face, not so much a development as the way things are when he’s known Daiki for a longer time like this than the other way around. But he’s still in some respects so used to thinking of Daiki as kind of a messy kid that it makes it hard to give him credit for these things in the first place.

Daiki’s eyes are soft looking at Shuuzou, open the way they’d been when Shuuzou had first met him and he’d been ready to talk five hundred kilometers per hour about how much he’d loved basketball. And, just like then, Shuuzou can’t help but return his smile.

There’s a thin strip of hair on his neck he’d missed shaving that morning; his tank top is falling off his shoulder to reveal slight (but very much there) tan lines, and his arms, long and lean and strong (stronger than this past regular season, and Shuuzou’s ready to vouch for this trainer if anyone ever asks), are ready to spring him off the counter and forward, up against Shuuzou. Shuuzou shifts forward, angling his face. He’s not asking permission for anything other than his own unwillingness to rise onto his toes, and Daiki gives him that much, crossing the distance between their mouths.

His mouth is warm and slick; he tastes like salt and marinara and green Gatorade, and they may have all the available time of middle-aged salarymen but that doesn’t mean they don’t want each other like they haven’t yet hit twenty-five. Shuuzou’s debating sticking his leg between Daiki’s when the slam of the refrigerator door breaks them apart.

Shuuzou’s sister has the carton of milk in one hand and a leftover cupcake in the other; she seems to have kicked the refrigerator shut (Shuuzou doesn’t know how many times he’s told her not to do that). She seems unimpressed with both Shuuzou and Daiki.

“Don’t fuck on the counter,” she says.

Shuuzou’s entire face is flaring hotter than a firework at a festival just centimeters from his hand.

“Language!”

His sister’s already flounced out, cupcake dangling from her mouth and carton of milk in her hand (she’d better not be drinking it out of the carton and putting it back). He turns to Daiki to apologize, but Daiki’s laughing softly, leaning against the counter.

“Your sister’s great.”

“Where’d she learn to talk like that?”

“She’s sixteen,” says Daiki, shrugging. “I wouldn’t worry.”

(And, well, of course he wouldn’t; she’s not Daiki’s baby sister and Daiki doesn’t worry in the same kind of way and, ugh.)

“But, you know,” says Daiki tracing his fingers down the inside of Shuuzou’s wrist and into his palm before Shuuzou closes his hand around them. “How about it? You, me, this countertop?”

“We cook here,” says Shuuzou, pulling him in closer, placing his free hand on Daiki’s chest. “And I don’t want to get interrupted again.”

“Fair enough,” says Daiki.

He leans down for another kiss, slotting his fingers between Shuuzou. He doesn’t try and push it any further, but his heart hammers against his ribcage, beating out of time against the pulse in Shuuzou’s thumb.


End file.
